Avengers: Code of Hero
by Rider Paladin
Summary: 50th fanfic posted under this account, I think. Seriously, 20 years from now, the Dark Reign of Norman Osborn continues. Fortunately for the world, an old hero returns from the shadows, gathering faces familiar and new to his side to end the Dark Reign.
1. Strange New Age

"Avengers: Code of Hero"

Chapter 1: "Strange New Age"

Disclaimer: The Avengers franchise belongs to Marvel Comics and Marvel Entertainment Studios. The characters associated with it – and they are numerous – also belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. We make no money from this story whatsoever.

Author's note: This story is a slight A/U to Marvel continuity as of the last three or four years. While most events did happen, there are some that happened a little differently, and this story is set twenty years into the future of the Marvel Universe. The protagonist here is Henry "Hank" Pym, a.k.a. Ant-Man, Giant-Man, Goliath, Yellowjacket, and presently the Wasp. Wow, that guy's had more name changes than I've done to my FFN pen name.

If you must know why Pym is the protagonist here, my collaborator JOUNOUCHI-sama simply feels that the man got a raw deal, both in-universe and from Marvel's editorial board. I happen to agree with him there, and Dan Slott's run on Mighty Avengers seemed like it was going to fix all that . . . until the most recent issue. Shows what we know, so this story can be considered a humble tribute to a founding Avenger who's fallen on hard times but who's done his utmost to do the right thing when it counts. Let us begin.

_

* * *

_

I ran. That's what I did.

_I knew what was coming. I knew that my friends, the people I cared about most, were going to go to war – with each other and with the government. I knew that whoever won, the world wouldn't be as it was before; it might even be worse when the dust settled._

_I decided I'd have no part of it. I couldn't bear to choose between two men who had been my friends for so many years, to watch them kill each other for a cause that was increasingly pointless to me. I chose the coward's way out, afraid of the consequences of choosing a side, not just for me but for anyone close to me. _

_Janet and I . . . we were starting to get to a place where we could at least be friends, be around each other without feeling sick to our stomachs with the memory of what I'd done while at my lowest. I couldn't let anything happen to her, not after what I'd already inflicted on her before. And if Tony or Steve could be trusted to do one thing still, it was look out for Jan, honor what remained of our friendship that way._

_So it was that I, Henry Pym, fled to the subatomic world . . . and stayed there, until I couldn't stay anymore. Until I couldn't take not knowing what'd become of my friends, of Jan. Until I couldn't take the guilt and shame gnawing at me like a hungry predator anymore._

_I'm coming out. Whatever may come, whatever I might find, I'm going to do what I should have done. I just hope the welcoming party is actually welcoming._

_**

* * *

**_

20 years hence . . .

Hank Pym emerged in a New York City that he could and couldn't recognize. He could still see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, but the gaping hole where the World Trade Center had once stood was now filled by a giant green spire that he could almost swear was pointed right at the sun. A closer look at the sky revealed disk-shaped robots floating in the sky, or so the sensors in Hank's goggles told him; he wouldn't have seen them otherwise.

A low but insistent hum warned him to get out of the street, as a car passed by him. Hank could see other cars like it, all running on what looked like a Maglev [magnetic levitation] system. Their bodies were very sleek and they looked as though they'd just been recently recoated, judging by how they shined in the sunlight.

The really strange thing was how _clean_ the streets and sidewalks were; now he _knew_ this wasn't the New York City he remembered. How long had he been gone? Before he could contemplate that, he saw a patrol of paramilitary officers pass by him, their truck marked with the inscription of "H.A.M.M.E.R."

"Just what is going on here?" he asked himself.

"Man, get out of the street!" a voice chided with a rough British accent, before an arm reached out and pulled Hank into the shadows of a nearby alley. Hank roughly shrugged that arm off him and pinned its owner to the wall. "Hey, it's not gonna be my fault they ghost you, man."

Hank looked at the man he had pinned, a young man with his head clean-shaven and four studs above his left eyebrow. "Can you tell me what year this is?"

"You jump me and now you wanna know what year it is?" the young man asked, his British accent thick with disbelief. "You crazy or something?"

"You're the one who yanked me into an alley to do God knows what," Hank retorted smartly. "But first, let's assume I'm crazy. Let's assume I just got out of the nuthouse. What would you tell me?"

"Depends, to get you up to speed or to get you off my back?"

"Why can't it be both?"

"Since you insist on being a pain in my ass after I tried to do you a favor, I might as well." The young man paused, furrowing his multiply-pierced brow in thought. "Here's what I know. H.A.M.M.E.R. runs this bitch."

"H.A.M.M.E.R.?" Hank repeated. "What about S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. ain't been around since I was in diapers," the young man replied. "After those shape-shifting green bastards made a really big mess of things, the government disbanded S.H.I.E.L.D. for nearly screwing us out of our own planet and handed it over to some guy named Norman Osborn –"

"The Green Goblin!?" Hank exclaimed. "Are you serious?!"

"It's Iron Patriot now," the young man corrected. "Been that since he went legit and took over everything the last guy in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. had, including those sweet armors. People like to bring up the Goblin thing every now and again, but it's not like other nutters haven't tried their hand at the hero thing."

"Norman Osborn is a pathologically narcissistic sociopath," Hank stated calmly, but the kind of calm that hinted at the rage beneath its surface. "How anyone could justify handing everything over to him, I don't know."

"Well, he did save the world from those shape-shifting greenies, or at least that's what the history books say," the young man replied, seemingly unmindful of Hank's quiet rage. "Well, what they said last time I bothered reading one. Anyway, the guy disbanded S.H.I.E.L.D. and reorganized it as H.A.M.M.E.R. Funny thing is they never said what the initials stand for, and it's been twenty goddamn years!" He laughed briefly. "Man, what a world. Nutter can't even come up with a decent name for his set, and he's running the place."

"What's happened to everyone?" Hank asked. "What happened to Iron Man? To Captain America? To Thor? To the Avengers?!"

"Iron Man went on the lam, and nobody knows if he's alive or dead somewhere. Thor and the other members of his God Squad pretty much washed their hands of us. Cap . . . well, Rogers died before I was born and the others never quite caught on, not even the one who turned out to be his sidekick. The rest of them went on the lam, took off their masks for good and went on the lam, got killed trying to fight Osborn, or threw in the towel and hooked up with Osborn."

"Just one more question. What year is this?"

"2029, man. Where've you been?"

Hank sighed. "I needed some time away . . . but it seems like I took too much of it." He pulled away from the young man and began to walk out of the alley. "Thanks for the help."

"Hey, man, you might've roughed me up and all, but . . . you want somewhere to stay?" the young man asked. "My mother cooks some mean pasta."

"Does your mother have a habit of taking in strays?" Hank asked sardonically.

"She's a big softie," the young man replied. "Explains why she put up with me so long." He shrugged. "Come on, I'll get you home before curfew."

"Curfew?" Hank echoed. _Yeah, definitely not the New York City I remember._

* * *

In a posh Soho apartment, a youthful woman prepared dinner for her son, who was probably out and about getting himself in trouble, as per the usual. Thankfully, he never brought that trouble home, although she did wish he'd try for some level of personal stability instead of his constant thrill-seeking; it'd keep him off H.A.M.M.E.R.'s list.

Just then, she heard the door open. "Mom, I'm home!"

"Hi, Nolan," she called out to her son. She went out to greet him, only to see him with a blond man dressed in a strange outfit that reminded her of her boss during her younger years. "Who's he?"

"I'm Hank Pym," the blond man replied. "Sorry to impose. I can leave if that'd be less troublesome for you."

"Hank . . . Pym?" the woman repeated.

"Hank Pym?" Nolan echoed, raising a multiply-pierced brow. "The superhero Hank Pym? The founding Avenger Hank Pym? That's who I've been hanging with?"

"Where have you been?" the woman asked. "Everyone thinks you're dead! And my boss isn't going to be very happy . . ."

"Your boss?" Hank echoed. "Who's your boss?"

"Janet van Dyne," Nolan's mother replied. "She talks about you a lot, when we're alone. She . . . she misses you. A lot."

"Wow . . ." Hank uttered. "I had no idea she still felt that way."

"Well, now that you're here, you might as well eat up before you go," Nolan's mother remarked amiably, turning around to return to the kitchen.

"Your mother works for Janet?" Hank asked Nolan.

Nolan shrugged. "Yeah, she's a fashion designer. Jan's been good to her."

"I'll bet," Hank murmured. "They didn't call her the winsome Wasp for nothing."

"You don't look that much older than me," Nolan observed.

"That's because I've been in another dimension," Hank replied. "Time functions differently there."

"For twenty years?" Nolan asked. "What happened to you?"

"Let's just say I couldn't bear watching my friends tear each other apart over something they could have easily resolved had they decided to act like adults," Hank answered with dry bitterness, mostly directed inward. "Now, what about the Skrulls?"

"Well, it turns out they'd been infiltrating Earth for years," Nolan replied. "Kidnapping and replacing key political officials and even superheroes and super-villains. Some people suspect that's how the fight over registration really started, with a Skrull disguised as some random politician pushing for it and other Skrulls manipulating the superheroes into turning on each other. However it happened, it got us freaking Norman Osborn in charge of everything."

"You're talking about Osborn in the present tense," Hank noticed. "What happened?"

"He's the president," Nolan replied. "Because he's the president, he can't officially control H.A.M.M.E.R. anymore, but we all know he's pulling the strings of the new director."

Hank gaped in shock. "How did Norman Osborn become president?"

"Born American citizen, of age to run . . . and he's done his damnedest to look like the ultimate symbol of redemption," Nolan answered. "And the media ate it up like a guy with the munchies."

Hank palmed his face. "How can people be so stupid?"

Nolan shrugged. "Hey, this is America, the land where anybody can be anything they want to be. Why should a little thing like proven mass murder stop anybody?"

After dinner had finished, Hank volunteered to help Nolan's mother wash the dishes. Nolan just coolly warned Hank not to start flirting with his mother before heading off to his room to download some metal music. As Hank and Nolan's mother washed the dishes, Hank dredged up the courage to ask her about Jan.

"Well, I can give you her address, but she's really private about it, so you'd better be the real Hank Pym and not a Skrull in disguise," Nolan's mother warned, half-joking, half-serious.

"I'm as real as you are," Hank replied amiably before sighing. "Things really have changed for the worst, haven't they?"

"It could be even worse," Nolan's mother remarked.

"Everything could be even worse," Hank mused. "It doesn't make what's happening now somehow better."

"You're right," Nolan's mother admitted. "But do you have any idea what you'll do about this? It's not like punching Osborn out in front of the cameras is going to solve anything."

"I'll feel better," Hank joked. Then he turned serious. "But you're right. We've spent years punching out various threats to the world's safety, and none of it made a real difference. None of it made the lives of people like you and your son any better in the long run. Maybe that's why the public never trusted us that much; saved the world from being blown up, but it was still being destroyed by greedy, soulless bastards like Osborn and we let it slide until it was too late."

"It's never too late," Nolan's mother denied, placing a comforting hand over Hank's hand. Despite all the soapy suds, Hank mused that it felt nice to hold someone's hand after twenty years of solitude. "You're a good man, Mr. Pym, and I think you'll have a chance of making things right. Who knows? You might make more right than you think."

Hank smiled at her, his spirits lifted with her kind words. "Thank you. Now, I'd like to know the name of my savior."

"Hannah," Nolan's mother replied. "Call me Hannah."

"All right, then, Hannah," Hank answered with a smile.

* * *

After getting Jan's current address from Hannah, Hank went on his way to find her. He knew he was breaking curfew, if what Nolan had to say was accurate, but he was confident that he'd be able to take care of himself until he made it to Jan. He _needed_ to see her again, after all these years.

On his way, though, he passed by a cemetery, and for some reason he was compelled to detour there. As he walked through the cemetery, looking at gravestones with names both familiar and foreign to him, he spotted a tall monument with a very familiar symbol etched into it. Walking toward the monument that bore the image of Captain America's shield, Hank saw a young man standing there, one that looked awfully familiar to him.

"Are you here to see him?" the young man asked softly, interrupting Hank's thoughts. "Everyone comes to see him. He's kind of like the American Pope."

"Who are you?" Hank asked.

"Call me Steve," the young man replied, his eyes still focused on the monument. "My dad named me after him."

"Your dad must have respected him a lot," Hank observed.

"Respected him? Steve Rogers was like a big brother to him," Steve remarked. "When my dad named me, he was hoping that I'd turn out a bit like him. I guess that's why I . . ."

He trailed off. "Is something wrong?" Hank asked, even though he could tell himself that things weren't entirely kosher. Before he knew it, a fusillade of bullets broke the silence, as Steve acrobatically evaded the gunshots and slipped a large concave disk over his arm. He used the disk to block the bullets heading his way, as Hank shrank to make himself a less obvious target.

Soon enough, he heard a harsh voice call, "Steven Barnes. You are wanted for insubordination and sedition. Stand down now, and mercy will be shown to you."

"Mercy?" Steve echoed. "Is that what he's calling it now?"

"If you refuse to stand down, lethal force will be applied," the voice responded with chilling finality.

"Go ahead, gentlemen," Steve taunted. "Make my day."

"Open fire!"

The bullets came back out in full force, and the miniature Hank jumped onto one of them, steering it toward one of the H.A.M.M.E.R. soldiers firing at the rapidly evading Steve. When Hank got close enough, he kicked the bullet he'd been riding back into the barrel it'd been launched out of – just as another bullet was about to come out. The backfire resulted in the rifle exploding in the H.A.M.M.E.R. soldier's hands, sending shards of the ruined weapon flying at his compatriots.

In the confusion, Hank grew back to normal size and punched one of the distraught soldiers in the face, while Steve rammed what Hank now recognized as Captain America's shield into the face of another soldier. "Hey, wait . . ." Steve said. "I think I know you . . ."

"Never mind that, let's get out of here while these guys are down," Hank said, as he and Steve Barnes made a break for it.

"Are you . . . ?" Steve asked, unable to help his curiosity.

"I am," Hank replied. "And I know a place we can hide out for now."

"Where?" Steve asked.

* * *

In an apartment overlooking an upscale part of the city, Janet van Dyne heard insistent knocking on her door. She went to see who it was, keeping a gun close by in case it turned out to be someone dangerous. Quickly opening the door and pointing the gun out at the same time, Jan was surprised to hear a heartbreakingly familiar voice say, "I wasn't expecting a greeting like that."

Jan nearly dropped the gun in surprise, looking to see who it was. "Hank?! Where have you _been?!_"

"It's a long story, Jan," Hank replied. "In the meantime, I'm in a bit of a jam and so's my friend here. Do you mind if we come in?"

"Wait a minute . . ." Jan said. "Is that really you?"

Hank smiled gently and looked her in the eyes. "It's me, Jan. I swear."

Jan looked him in the eyes – and found herself believing him. Still, there was something she wasn't quite sure of . . . "Why do you look so young?"

"Well, you don't look too bad yourself, Jan," Hank replied with a smile. "Seriously, though, I've been in another dimension. Time functions somewhat differently there."

"You have any idea how many women would kill for that?" Jan asked sardonically. "Anyway, hurry up and come in."

After pulling Hank and Steve inside, Jan stared them both down. "So how'd you know I was here?"

"I got pointed in the right direction by one of your friends," Hank replied. "Her son helped me from being discovered sooner when I first came back."

Jan looked at Steve. "And him?"

"H.A.M.M.E.R. tried to kill me," Steve replied. "Not a big deal; they do that an awful lot. I've learned to set my clock by them."

"Never would have expected you to be hiding out in one of Tony's old apartments," Hank remarked, looking around the apartment. "You've really changed the décor for the better, though."

Jan chuckled. "Thanks."

"_Janet?"_ a very familiar-sounding voice asked, startling Hank.

"Tony? Is that you?"

"_Tony 2.0, actually,"_ Tony's voice replied, as a holographic image resembling a young Tony Stark materialized in front of them. _"And I see you're Janet's guests of honor. Nice to meet the both of you."_

"Who is he and why does he call himself Tony 2.0?" Hank asked.

"He's one of Tony's experiments that survived Osborn's purge," Janet replied. "An A.I. modeled after his memories and personality to facilitate better interfacing with his armors."

"And he _hasn't_ gone crazy?" Hank asked.

"_Quirky, yes,"_ Tony 2.0 amended. _"Crazy, no."_

"If you say so," Hank answered with wary sarcasm. "Now let's get serious. How are we going to stop Osborn?"

"Good question," Jan replied. "Luke's Avengers didn't exactly meet a good end, trying to bring him down."

"Are you saying . . . ?" Hank prompted, yet let it hang in the air, afraid of what the answer would be.

"Yes," Jan answered. "Spider-Man got it the worst, because Osborn hated him the most. Osborn made him watch . . . watch while . . ."

"You don't have to say anymore, Jan," Hank said, pulling Janet into a gentle if somewhat awkward hug. "And everyone else?"

"Dead, imprisoned, or in permanent exile," Jan replied. "Not that it stopped some of them from having kids, and those kids weren't exactly willing to put up with Osborn." She chuckled, with a slight hint of bitterness. "You know kids. Always thinking they can change the world if they try hard enough."

Hank pulled away gently. "Kids . . . that's it!" He brightened up. "Jan, you are brilliant."

"What do you mean?" Jan asked.

"We need the next generation," Hank answered, "and I think I know just who to rally them."

Steve caught the look Hank was giving him. "Me?"

"You're using Captain America's shield," Hank answered. "And if I'm right about who your father is, you're not some random upstart trying to capitalize on someone else's name. Even if you were, the world needs a symbol like Captain America to rally behind, to show them what free men and women can really do. So what do you say?"

Steve sighed. "I can't do it alone. I'm in."

"And you won't be alone. I promise you that." Hank turned to Tony 2.0's virtual avatar.

"_I've been gathering information in secret about the superheroes presently active,"_ Tony 2.0 offered. _"I'm sure you'll find my database very useful in your endeavor."_

"Thanks," Hank answered. He turned to Jan, something weighing heavily on his mind that he hadn't realized up till this point. "Jan, do you know what happened to the original Tony?"

Jan's expression darkened with sorrow, and Hank almost didn't want to ask how it had happened. Just as he was about to ask, she cut him off. "It doesn't matter now. Osborn needs to be stopped . . . and Tony 2.0 has something to say."

"_Before he passed on, the original Tony Stark created a short list of people he trusted to carry on his life's work as Iron Man,"_ Tony 2.0 explained. _"One of them, obviously, was James Rhodes but since Rhodes is currently indisposed via death, it falls to you."_

"Me? Why?" Hank asked.

"_Because you're the only one left,"_ Tony 2.0 replied stoically. _"You won't be alone, though; the original Tony designed me for easier interfacing with the Iron Man armors, especially the more advanced models. You'll have all the help you can stand and then some."_

Hank chuckled. "Well, it's good to know I'll have a designated driver."

* * *

As it turned out, the apartment building Jan was living in, the one that had once belonged to Tony, had an armory beneath it. It was relative child's play to find his way there, given the secret access that Tony had entrusted to Jan and Jan was now entrusting to Hank. Once there, Hank saw multiple Iron Man suits in varying mixtures of red and gold, red and silver, black and gray, and sometimes all black, all gold, or all silver.

Seeing that a particularly stylized model had caught Hank's eye, Tony 2.0 took the opportunity to point out, _"That was the last model the original Tony was working on. I had to finish it after he . . ."_

"You miss him a lot, don't you?" Hank remarked. "It's ok . . . I miss him, too."

"_Time to get you fitted for the armor,"_ Tony 2.0 said, quickly changing the subject.

"All right," Hank said, stripping down to enter the chamber where the Extremis formula would be infused into his biochemical makeup. The process felt a lot like being disassembled and reassembled molecule by molecule – and it happening slowly enough for him to be painfully aware of it. Then again, that might have been close enough to the truth of what was going on.

When it was over, Hank almost couldn't believe it was over. It had felt like it would never end and now, now there was a buzzing at the back of his head, like static feedback. _"How do you feel, Hank?"_ Tony 2.0 asked.

"Connected," Hank replied breathlessly. "That's the only word I have for it. I feel like I can look right at you and see every last line of code that went into making you."

"_That's because you can,"_ Tony 2.0 replied. _"The Extremis process was specifically redesigned for that purpose, which will also increase the speed of your armor's reactions."_

"My armor . . ." Hank repeated. "That's going to take some getting used to."

"_Well, I'll be there to make the transition easier on you,"_ Tony 2.0 said. _"Now, how about you try it on?"_

Hank thought about the gleaming red-and-gold model he'd seen, and it broke down into its various components, swirling around him and attaching to his body as the operating under-sheath formed from the nanites leaking out of his pores. When the armor finished assembling itself on his body, Hank flexed his gauntleted fingers.

"Wow . . . this is nothing . . . I've ever experienced before," he remarked. "I didn't even feel like this when I went giant."

"Hank?" Jan asked, making her presence known. "Is that you?"

"No more, Janet," Hank replied. "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds."

Jan stared at Hank apprehensively, before Hank broke out into a fit of modulated laughter. "Not funny, Hank!"

"Sorry, but I always wanted to say that," Hank replied with a smile beneath his mask. Then he grew serious. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got recruits to find and an emperor to expose." 

His boot jets and repulsors activated . . . and Hank, the new Iron Man, took off into the night.

* * *

End Notes: There you have it, the very first chapter of what will be our Avengers epic, "Code of Hero." What strange new heroes will the new Iron Man meet? What intimidating new villains will he battle? What kind of new Avengers will he assemble to take down Norman Osborn? Who will join him? Who will decline? And how will Osborn react to the return of his most hated nemesis? (Besides Spider-Man, that is.) For the answers to those questions and others, stand by for upcoming chapters – and don't forget to review!


	2. Youth of the Nation

"Avengers: Code of Hero"

Chapter 2: "Youth of the Nation"

Disclaimer: The Avengers franchise belongs to Marvel Comics and Marvel Entertainment. I make no money whatsoever from this story and I am only doing this for my personal entertainment.

Author's note: Well, we've gotten off to a good start, haven't we? In this chapter, Hank will meet the new generation of superheroes and have more encounters with H.A.M.M.E.R. soldiers. I should warn you, not everything will be as you expect it, particularly where a certain fan-favorite is concerned. If you can handle that, I promise you will be in for a fun ride through my conception of the Marvel Universe's future. Now, let's get this party started!

* * *

The new Iron Man, Hank Pym, flew through the skies, reveling in the experience. "Is this what Tony felt like every time he suited up?"

"_Fun, isn't it?"_ Tony 2.0 remarked. _"Don't look now, but you've got some fighters on your tail."_

Sure enough, the armor's radar detected three fighter jets tailing its pilot. Hank chuckled. "Let's lose them, shall we?"

With a burst of speed, Hank accelerated the armor's flight systems, putting an incredible distance between him and the trio of fighter jets. Unfortunately, they were not to be deterred so easily, as they also accelerated, flying after Hank.

"Did Iron Man modify his armor again?" one of the pilots asked over the radio link connecting the three fighter jets.

"Maybe," another pilot replied. "Try to radio him, see if we can figure out what's going on."

"Sure," the third pilot answered. "Iron Man. Iron Man, do you copy?"

"No, I prefer to do my own homework," Hank replied sardonically.

"That's not Iron Man!" the first pilot exclaimed.

"Someone must have stolen a suit and taken it for a joyride," the second pilot concluded.

The third pilot radioed Hank directly. "Whoever you are, you are in unauthorized possession of war-tech beyond your comprehension. Come with us quietly and you will not be harmed."

"Beyond my comprehension?" Hank repeated with a laugh. He directed his next comment to Tony 2.0. "Why don't we ditch these losers?"

"_Much obliged,"_ Tony 2.0 responded with a smirk in his voice.

Hank accelerated the armor's flight systems again, this time rising into the sky. The fighters shot up after him, this time opening fire on him. Hank outmaneuvered the bullets and missiles flying at him with an almost childish exhilarated whoop. As much as he preferred life as a scientist, he couldn't deny that this was probably the most exciting part of being a superhero.

"Again, did Tony feel like this every time he put this baby through her paces?" Hank asked.

"_Yeah, he practically lived off the adrenaline rush,"_ Tony 2.0 replied. _"But you really should at least try to fight back."_

"Yeah, you're right," Hank agreed, twisting around to face the fighter jets while flying away from them. He thrust his arms forward, firing the repulsors in his hands to deflect the fighter jets currently flying at him. Unfortunately, the fighters dodged the blasts and continued shooting at Hank, who dodged their volleys as well. "Don't these guys quit?"

"_No,"_ Tony 2.0 answered dryly.

"My fault for asking such a stupid question," Hank remarked just as dryly.

"_You know, Extremis does more than help you control the armor better,"_ Tony 2.0 commented.

"Oh, yeah," Hank admitted, suddenly remembering. Concentrating, he began to hack into the fighters' computer systems.

"Oh, crap!" one of the fighter pilots shouted. "I just lost control of my fighter!"

"So did I!" another fighter pilot shouted.

"We've all been locked out of the control systems!" the third fighter pilot shouted with panic creeping into his tone. "How the hell did that happen?"

"This guy's got some serious tech support behind him," the first pilot surmised.

"Somebody's gotta call in some ground support to shoot this guy out of the sky!" the second pilot yelled.

"Already on it," the third pilot answered, having quickly regained some measure of calm. "Anti-air support is on its way."

"Anti-air support," Hank remarked. "They can bring it."

"_You're getting awfully cocky, Hank,"_ Tony 2.0 commented.

"Sorry," Hank replied. "Just . . . I've kinda missed this. Having bad guys out for my blood and staying one step ahead of them . . . it's kinda fun. Now, for my next magic trick . . ."

The fighters' ejector seats activated seemingly on their own, propelling their pilots out. Their parachutes quickly unfurled, changing their fatal descent into a somewhat relaxed downward drift. As they fell, the pilots could see a rapidly growing Iron Man flying toward their empty fighters. When he reached them, they were still larger than his hands, but not by much; they might as well have been model planes to him now.

The pilots cringed as the Iron Goliath crushed each plane with one brutal punch, turning millions of dollars of sophisticated aerial war-tech into so much scrap metal. Unfortunately for said Iron Goliath, he had just made himself a bigger target, something he realized when a series of anti-air missiles shot up at him. He put the armor through its paces again, simultaneously shrinking back to normal size and dodging the missiles.

Growing weary of dodging the missiles, Hank started shooting them down with his armor's own missile system, taking out all but one. That one he answered with a repulsor-powered punch that sent it plummeting back to the ground. Seconds later, he saw a fiery explosion from the street below, indicating where the missile had landed. Hank allowed himself a brief satisfied smirk beneath his helmet.

"That'll teach them."

* * *

On the ground, the H.A.M.M.E.R. soldiers manning the tank that had fired the anti-air missiles at the Iron Goliath had been forced to jump out before the returned missile could blow them up along with it. "Who in God's name is this guy?!" one of them asked, looking at the smoldering wreckage that used to be the tank.

"I don't know, but I don't think the director's gonna be happy about this," another soldier replied.

"When the hell has that guy ever been happy?" the first soldier asked.

"Never mind that now, we have reports to file," a third soldier commented. "So let's call in a ride."

"What about calling in backup?" the second soldier asked.

"Backup? This is beyond our pay grade, man," the third soldier replied. "Whoever it is flying around out there like that, he's gonna be long gone by the time any backup shows up. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not embarrass myself further."

"So, throw in the towel while we've still got something salvageable," the first soldier concluded. "Figure you're right about that. Besides, if we pushed this far enough, people could've gotten caught in the crossfire."

"The price of living in a world without these crazies nutting around any chance they get," the second soldier remarked resignedly. "I don't know about you, but I'd take a few dead people now and these nutcases in a hole somewhere over a hella lot of dead people later and those crazies running wild."

The third soldier shook his head grimly. "You might have a point, but I prefer no casualties. People aren't gonna trust we're the good guys if we write off collateral damage. Why do you think the old superheroes got run out of town?"

"Touché," the second soldier conceded reluctantly.

"Now, if we're all done embarrassing ourselves for the night, let's call it in," the third soldier said. "With any luck, they might call in the Cape-Killers for that bastard."

"Would serve him right," the first soldier remarked.

* * *

Meanwhile, the new Iron Man flew through the skies of New York City, going over Tony 2.0's database of superheroes while Tony 2.0 himself controlled the armor's flight systems. As he read through the database, his eyes narrowed with anger when he saw the national super-team passing for the Avengers. "Who do they think they are, using the name Avengers?" he asked bitterly.

"_Osborn's way of sticking it to everyone who fought against him, doubtlessly,"_ Tony 2.0 answered.

"Who are they?" Hank asked.

"_Captain America goes by the name 'Steven Rogers,' but I'm willing to bet good money that's actually Evil 50s Cap,"_ Tony 2.0 replied. _"'Thor' is likely Ragnarok, the clone Tony made as a weapon during the Superhuman Civil War twenty years ago. Iron Man's another impostor, someone using Stanetech instead of Starktech. There's a Spider-Woman, but she's using a modified version of the Starktech fighting suit Tony created for Peter Parker. Oh, and you might not want to hear this . . ."_

"Hear what?" Hank asked.

"_Julia's daughter Rachel . . . is the new Spider-Woman,"_ Tony 2.0 finished.

Hank let out a quiet profanity. "Damn it, does she even understand what she's part of now!?"

"_Maybe. Maybe not,"_ Tony 2.0 answered solemnly.

"What happened to Julia?" Hank wondered, almost afraid of the answer.

"_Dead, Hank, dead,"_ Tony 2.0 replied sadly. _"Rachel didn't take it very well, at least not at first, but what kid takes the death of their mother well in the first place?"_

"Point," Hank conceded. "Anyone else?"

"_They've got themselves a new Captain Marvel,"_ Tony 2.0 resumed. _"And their Ant-Man is using the same battle suit you made for S.H.I.E.L.D. Not to mention they've got a new Black Widow on loan from Russia's Red Room."_

"Damn," Hank muttered. "I'm really going to need to put together a proper Avengers team if there's going to be any chance of stopping Osborn."

"_Why not call them the Secret Avengers?"_ Tony 2.0 suggested.

"Secret Avengers?" Hank repeated.

"_After the group Steve Rogers formed to battle the SHRA,"_ Tony 2.0 explained. _"I think it sounds neat."_

"I think I've found our first recruit," Hank remarked, distracting himself from thoughts of an ally's child having grown into one of his enemies.

Prowling the streets of Hell's Kitchen was a man in what appeared to be a black-and-red combat suit styled after Daredevil's costume. The main difference besides coloration was that the mask covered his entire head, even his mouth and jaw. Furthermore, the club he used had a red energy lance extending from either end, a lance he was wielding with brutal intent on the gaggle of street thugs confronting him.

One of the thugs attempted to shoot Daredevil, but Daredevil jammed one end of his lance into the barrel of the thug's gun. This made the gun explode in the thug's hand thanks to the backfire, and the thug cried out in pain from his ruined hand. A clearly unsympathetic Daredevil just kicked the thug in the chest with enough force to knock him to the ground.

The other thugs began opening fire on Daredevil just out of range of his lance, but Daredevil just deflected all the bullets with his lance, moving faster than any human being had a right to. Once the thugs ran out of bullets, Daredevil disarmed them with furious swipes of his lance, following up with simple strikes with his fists and feet to knock them out.

By that point, Hank had landed on the closest rooftop and was now slowly clapping, an oddly metallic sound due to his gauntleted hands. "Nice work. I mean, really, those were some fine moves there."

Daredevil just glared at him. "Iron Man. I told you before. Hell's Kitchen doesn't want your kind."

"I'm not the Iron Man you think I am," Hank replied.

"New armor, I see," Daredevil observed. "But that doesn't change the man inside it."

"Not unless there's a new man in the armor," Hank rejoined.

"You're not lying," Daredevil answered. "But how do I know you're any better than the other guy?"

"Because I'm not with Osborn," Hank explained. "This armor's real Starktech, not the Stanetech knockoff Osborn's Iron Man is using."

"So you swiped that armor from Osborn," Daredevil mused. "I like you already."

"Osborn stole that armor from a friend of mine," Hank replied. "He stole a lot of things from a lot of friends of mine. Dignity, freedom, identities . . . _life . . ._"

"Sounds like you hate Norman Osborn as much as I do," Daredevil commented sourly, although there was a hint of a smirk in his voice. "I'll work with you, long as you do me one favor."

"What?" Hank asked.

"You call me if you actually need me," Daredevil replied. "Otherwise, leave me alone. I've got Hell's Kitchen to worry about."

"Fine," Hank conceded. "Those are reasonable terms, but frankly, the world's a lot bigger than Hell's Kitchen. When you decide you want to be part of it, I'll be ready." Hank activated the thrusters in his boots and lifted off again, leaving Daredevil by his lonesome.

The devil-masked man just shook his head ironically before returning to his patrol. "Who does he think he is?"

* * *

In another part of the city, a white-haired girl in black motorcycle gear complete with a white mask and silver disks lining her sleeves with engraved R-symbols crawled down the side of an alley, creeping up on a mugger and his would-be victim. "You don't want her," the girl said to the mugger. "She's all scared and crap. No fun whatsoever. Not like me . . ." Her voice took on a seductive, purring cadence on those last three words.

"And who the hell do you think you are?" the mugger asked, turning his gun on the white-haired girl, who just kicked it out of his hand with greased-lightning quickness.

"Ricochet," the girl replied.

The mugger rushed Ricochet, only for the white-haired girl to slide low and kick him in the groin. Twisting acrobatically back onto her feet, Ricochet kicked the mugger five more times while he was crumpling to the ground, finishing with a brutal stomp to the back of his head. It wasn't enough to kill him by any means, but his nose was definitely broken.

She turned to the woman who would have been robbed at gunpoint by the mugger. "You all right?"

"Y-yeah . . ." the woman replied.

"Well, you'd better get home," Ricochet advised lightly. "Curfew, you know. Damn H.A.M.M.E.R. bastards."

The woman rushed away, remembering the damnable curfew. For her part, Ricochet simply back-flipped onto the alley wall and climbed up onto the rooftop. At that moment, she was confronted by a small platoon of armored H.A.M.M.E.R. Cape-Killers. "Sorry, boys, but I'm not that kind of girl. Maybe if you ask me nicely . . ."

"Felicity May Parker, you are wanted on charges of insubordination, illegal vigilantism, and sabotage," the Cape-Killer leader declared. "Surrender peacefully, and you will be assured leniency. Resist capture, and be taken in by force and given lifetime confinement."

Ricochet tilted her head and cocked her hip. "Glad you believe in giving a lady a choice. But I don't think I like how this conversation's going. How do you boys feel about a rain check?"

"Open fire!" the Cape-Killer leader ordered. That was the moment the Cape-Killers drew their high-caliber pulse rifles and began shooting at Ricochet. The white-haired girl acrobatically evaded the pulse blasts while plucking a silver disk from her jacket and throwing it at one of the Cape-Killers' rifles. The disk struck the rifle barrel with surprising force and knocked it to the side while the Cape-Killer holding it still had his finger on the trigger.

The result of this was that the poor Cape-Killer ended up accidentally shooting down several of his fellows, much to everyone's dismay. "Ah, damn it!" He turned his rifle on Ricochet, but by then, she'd punched him in his helmeted face, with enough force to damage the circuitry controlling the helmet's audiovisual feed. She flipped away from him and kicked another Cape-Killer in the face, disrupting the audiovisual feed of his helmet just like the one she'd punched.

"Hey. Need any help?" a voice asked from above them all.

"Iron Man!" one of the Cape-Killers shouted, thinking their salvation had arrived.

"I actually meant the lovely lady you're accosting," the Iron Man, a sleek red-and-gold model with glowing circular lights positioned all over his frame, corrected.

"Oh, crap!" another Cape-Killer shouted. "It's the rogue who took on the Aerial Attack Squad! Shoot him down!"

Unfortunately for them, their attempts were all for naught, as Iron Man generated a deflector shield to block each and every pulse blast directed at him. Even worse, the shield was absorbing the pulses and channeling their energy into extra power for the Iron Man armor. That extra power came out of the armor's repulsors, which practically crushed the Cape-Killers' armors while Ricochet had wisely gotten out of Iron Man's firing range.

"Why . . . can't I move?" one of the Cape-Killers asked. He didn't think it was the pain in his own body, since the armor's cybernetic interface compensated for the wearer's movements. So what was wrong with it?

"I've shut down your armors' motor functions," Iron Man explained. "Not that hard to do after I hacked into their onboard computers."

"You . . ." the Cape-Killer who'd just spoken uttered in helpless rage.

Iron Man just turned to Ricochet. "You wanna take a ride with me?"

Ricochet smirked underneath her white mask. "I've always thought metal was sexy on a guy."

Iron Man chuckled. "I'm old enough to be your father. Is that what you're looking for?"

Ricochet just walked up to Iron Man and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Take me away, tall, red, and shiny."

Iron Man's thrusters activated and he took off with Ricochet holding onto him for dear life. "I knew your father."

"You knew him?" Ricochet asked.

"Yeah. Good man. Told too many unfunny jokes, but he was a good man. Now that I look back on it, he probably did it to keep himself from going crazy after all the crap his rogues gallery would throw at him, and frankly . . . it kept some of us on a more even keel, too."

"He sounds like a great guy," Ricochet mused wistfully.

"I'm going to give you a chance," Iron Man replied. "Not just a chance to make your father proud, but a chance to make the name 'Avengers' mean something again, a chance to make being a hero worthwhile again, a chance to save this world from soulless monsters like Norman Osborn."

Ricochet didn't say anything for a while. Iron Man didn't fault her; he figured she was assessing her options. Her answer, when it did come, came as a relief to him.

"I'm in . . . my knight in stainless steel armor."

"Do you mind not flirting with me like that?" Iron Man asked. "You're probably not even legal yet, and there's somebody in my life already."

"I'll have you know that I turned 19 last month," Ricochet retorted peevishly, sounding more her teenaged self than the sultry sex goddess she attempted to come off as. Then she turned serious. "If I go with you, what happens to my mother?"

"You can take her with you," Iron Man replied. "I have access to a special sanctuary dimension. You won't have to run from Osborn's thugs anymore."

"Sounds good to me," Ricochet said. "Of course, my mom might not be that happy about me becoming an Avenger. She thinks my dad wouldn't be dead now if it wasn't for his hero complex."

"Your dad's hero complex saw him through a lot of things," Iron Man replied. "And I think, even now, he's looking out for you, wherever he is."

"Thanks," Ricochet responded. "You're not Osborn's Iron Man, and you said you knew my father, like you were friends with him."

"Let's just say I've been gone a while," Iron Man answered somewhat evasively. "Getting myself back together and all. I shouldn't have taken this long."

"My mother always said that if you focus too much on the past, you can't make things right in the future," Ricochet remarked. "And that's what happens to be at stake, you said, the future. So I'm in, whoever you are. I'm not letting the man that killed my father win."

"Good," Iron Man answered. "Now, I've got some other recruits to find. You mind sticking with me for a while?"

"You're giving me the best ride of my life," Ricochet replied saucily. "Why wouldn't I stick with you?"

"_This is going to be fun,"_ Tony 2.0 remarked. _"And technically, I'm only a year or two older than her. A.I., remember?"_

Iron Man groaned quietly. Why in God's name Tony 2.0 had been modeled after Tony Stark's youthful self, Hank had no idea. Or maybe the A.I. had done it himself. It wouldn't be beyond him, as "quirky" as he'd said he was. Just as icing on the cake, the original Tony's libido seemed to be one of the personality traits that stuck with this A.I. doppelganger.

"You stay away from her," Hank grumbled, already feeling like an overprotective father.

"_I make no promises,"_ Tony 2.0 answered with affectionate mocking in his tone.

* * *

In a seedy underworld bar, a blond young man in dark purple tactical body armor complete with wrist gauntlets and a pair of goggles similar to those on Mockingbird's last costume drew a pair of staves. "Come on," he whispered to the gaggle of criminal thugs surrounding him. "Make my day."

"Oh, we'll make your day, all right, punk!" one of the thugs shouted, lunging at the young man, who just smacked him aside with one of the staves. The other thugs began to attack using chains and pool cues and broken beer bottles, but the young man seamlessly bobbed and weaved between each strike. With nothing but sheer strength, the young man disarmed each thug with a single brutal strike of either stave.

By the time Ricochet found the young man, he was sitting on top of a pile of unconscious thugs, having a drink. "Hey there, sexy," he greeted her.

"Hey there, yourself," Ricochet answered. "Mockingbird, right?"

"Yeah, you've heard of me, haven't you?" Mockingbird commented with a flirtatious smirk. "Mind if I buy you a drink?"

"Business before pleasure," Ricochet purred. "A new friend of mine wants to talk to you."

"Sure, just let me finish this first," Mockingbird answered, swilling down the drink before throwing the glass aside. "Yeah, I'm ready now." He hopped off the pile of beaten thugs and walked out of the bar with Ricochet. To his surprise, he saw a figure in chromed-out high-tech armor with glowing circular panels at various symmetrical points. He recognized the color scheme, and automatically drew a pair of handgun-sized crossbows, aiming them at the armored figure.

"I'm not who you think I am," the red-and-gold-armored man stated calmly.

"Sure you aren't," Mockingbird snapped. "Different armor, same bastard inside it!"

"That's what Daredevil said when he first saw me," the armored man remarked.

"Is this the guy you wanted me to meet?" Mockingbird asked Ricochet accusingly.

"He's not Osborn's Iron Man," Ricochet corrected.

"Exactly," Iron Man stated. "This is real Starktech, not the imitation crap Osborn gets by with because he doesn't want to admit he doesn't know as much as he thinks he does. You think anything Osborn could come up with would be able to outfight this model? Last one Tony Stark made before Osborn got to him."

"Say you're telling the truth, and I don't believe you are," Mockingbird challenged. "What do you want with me?"

"I want you to join the Avengers," Iron Man explained. "The _real_ Avengers, not the imitators Osborn put together to fool these people into letting him have his way."

"And why should I join you?" Mockingbird asked suspiciously. "How do I know you're not another Osborn flunky trying to set a trap for anyone who actually wants to fight the son of a bitch?"

"Because I knew your parents," Iron Man replied. "I fought alongside them, back in the day. Back when I was known by the names Ant-Man, Giant-Man, Goliath, and Yellowjacket."

"Wait a second . . . Henry Pym?" Mockingbird deduced.

Iron Man allowed his faceplate to separate from his helmet, revealing his face to Mockingbird. "Yeah, that's me."

"How do I know you're not a goddamn Skrull?" Mockingbird inquired. "Because you look pretty good for a guy pushing 50."

"Thanks for the compliment, but it's complicated," Hank responded. "What do you say? You want their deaths to be for nothing? You want everything they fought for to get pissed away by guys like Norman Osborn?"

"No," Mockingbird hissed, his hold on the grips of his crossbows tightening.

Hank closed his armor's faceplate, becoming Iron Man once again. "Then come with me, and I'll show you how to fight Osborn."

* * *

End Notes: Well, this is a pretty good way to end this chapter, nice and climactic. You've already seen the new Daredevil, the new Ricochet, and the new Mockingbird. As you can tell from Ricochet's look and attitude, she isn't exactly the Spider-Girl we know from the MC2 Universe. I'll let you wonder about Daredevil's parentage for a little while longer, but I'll tell you this one thing about Mockingbird: His mother isn't necessarily who you think she is.

In the meantime, there are more "Secret Avengers" to be recruited next chapter. I won't tell you who they all are, but I can tell you that they have connections to past Avengers. You'll also get to see them confront Osborn's Avengers later on in this story, but we have to set up the team first and let them get some victories under their belt before we sic the "Dark Avengers" on them. Just one thing, though: The "Secret Avengers" might not be that much of a secret for long.

Thanks for reading. Be sure to review and hang on for the next chapter!


	3. King of Nothing

"Avengers: Code of Hero"

Chapter 3: "King of Nothing"

Disclaimer: Avengers belongs to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This story is only being written for entertainment value and not with any concept of material compensation.

Author's note: At long last, we are continuing this hopefully epic futuristic Avengers tale of heroism in an age of villainy. Hank Pym, the new Iron Man, has already begun recruiting his new Avengers, but who else will join him? Who will deny his invitation? Who will oppose him? And just what really happened to the heroes of old? For the answers to those questions and others, read on!

* * *

Iron Man soared through the skies of New York City, while Ricochet followed him across the rooftops. Mockingbird rode his motorcycle down the streets of the city as he valiantly kept pace with Iron Man and Ricochet. Before they could really get anywhere, though, a lightning bolt struck Iron Man from out of nowhere.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Ricochet wondered.

"That better not be Ragnarok," Mockingbird murmured with some slight trepidation.

Indeed, it was not Thor's clone . . . it was the Mighty Thor himself. He wore an armored black tunic and pants over a chainmail undershirt, with armored gloves and boots. A red cape hung proudly from his shoulders, while the familiar winged helm rested on the Asgardian thunder god's blond head and Mjolnir was clenched tightly in his hand while lightning crackled around him.

"You . . . betrayer . . ." Thor accused. "I returned to wretched Midgard to retrieve someone precious to me . . . and I find you here."

"Thor, wait!" Iron Man protested.

"I will not wait for you, mortal," Thor declared, just before striking again with Mjolnir.

"Damn it, Thor, will you stop and listen?" Iron Man shouted, briefly overwhelmed by Thor's power.

"Once, I might have listened," Thor answered coldly. "After what you have done, betrayer, I will not do so any longer." He struck Iron Man again with a blast of lightning from Mjolnir.

"_This is gonna be trouble,"_ Tony 2.0 remarked.

"You think?" Hank retorted dryly before directing his next comment at Thor. "If you're not gonna listen . . . then I guess I'll just have to make you." He unleashed a powerful Uni-Beam from the arc reactor in the center of his armor, only for Thor to smack it aside with Mjolnir.

"You presume too much, Anthony Stark," Thor stated ominously. "Then again, you never did know your limits."

"Tony Stark is dead!" Hank shouted. "Norman Osborn killed him!"

Thor's eyes briefly widened with shock before they narrowed with anger. "Then who are you and why do you wear his colors?"

"He was my friend. And he was yours, too."

"Once, perhaps. But not after he created that hollow facsimile to fight his war for him. Not so long as it continues to besmirch my name."

Iron Man unlatched the faceplate of his helmet, revealing the face of Hank Pym. "Hey, Thor. Long time no see, huh?"

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Thor asked, surprised.

"No, they don't, old friend," Hank confirmed. "I've been gone a long time, and now it's time to make things right. Whoever you're trying to retrieve, I'm all right with helping you."

"You are a gracious man, Henry Pym," Thor remarked. "But I caution you against wearing that armor."

"I have no choice," Hank answered. "Someone has to show these people what a real Iron Man can do."

"Very well," Thor responded. "Now, who are these mortals that were following you?"

"Mockingbird and Ricochet," Hank replied, closing the faceplate of his armor once again. "You once counted their parents as allies and fellow Avengers. Anyway, wherever this person is, lead the way."

Thor launched Mjolnir before grabbing its strap and letting the divine hammer lead him, Iron Man following. Ricochet and Mockingbird followed the two veteran superheroes from their positions on the rooftops and the streets, respectively. "That's so weird," Mockingbird commented. "First, they're beating the crap out of each other and now they're teaming up."

"Superheroes do that a lot," Ricochet remarked over Mockingbird's communicator link. "At least they did back in my mom's day."

"Why?" Mockingbird asked.

"Hell if I know," Ricochet replied.

* * *

In a little hole-in-the-wall bar called _Josie's Place,_ a redheaded young woman was eagerly gulping down her latest shot of beer. "You might wanna be careful there, missy," the bartender admonished. "Plenty of guys here'd love to take a shot at you."

The redhead, Lyra, snorted disdainfully. "Like they could handle me. I'd break them in two."

The bartender, a handsome man in his late thirties, chuckled. "Sure thing."

Just then, a young blonde in chain-linked black armor with a large sword strapped to her back walked into the bar. The first thing the bar's patrons noticed was that she was _tall,_ almost six feet high by their estimate. The second thing they noticed was that she was quite "blessed" up top, something her armor did not fail to emphasize. The third thing they noticed about her was that she looked like she could break a man's skull with just her thighs. That last part, though, didn't stop a more foolhardy biker from approaching her.

"Hey, babe," the leather-clad bald man greeted her. "How's about I take you for a ride?"

"I'm not here for you," the armored blonde woman responded coldly.

"Hey, don't be so cold," the biker admonished. "I'm betting a lady like you is probably looking for a real man to show her a good time, know what I'm saying?"

The woman drew her sword, holding it at the man's throat right by the jugular vein. "Not interested . . . know what I'm saying?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" the bartender shouted. "I don't want any trouble here, so put that sword down!"

"Sure," the young woman answered calmly, withdrawing the sword from the man's throat and re-sheathing it.

Unfortunately, the biker's friends weren't so willing to let it go, and they charged her, intending to beat her by force of numbers. That turned out to be false hope, as the young woman slammed an elbow into one biker's stomach before pirouetting into a kick to another biker's chest. Both blows sent the two bikers flying, only to collide with opposite walls and fall unconscious.

"She's some kind of freak!" one of the remaining bikers shouted.

"Who cares?" another yelled back, obviously drunk. "We'll still take her!"

The one full of liquid courage got a tap on his shoulder, and it was from the redheaded girl who'd been stoically watching the fight. The interesting thing, though, was that her skin had turned a shade of green, and she was a lot taller and more muscularly defined than she'd been before. The drunken biker turned to see her, and nearly defecated himself with fear at the sight of her.

"What . . . what the . . . ?"

The green-skinned redhead, Lyra, turned to the bartender and lifted one red eyebrow. "Do you mind?" she asked sardonically.

"Just try not to wreck the place," the bartender answered resignedly.

Lyra smirked and punched the drunken biker so hard he went flying into the wall headfirst. "Bitch . . ." the biker had the will to mutter before falling unconscious.

The other patrons began fleeing en masse, stampeding over the unconscious bikers in their desperate haste. Lyra merely regarded the fleeing patrons with cool satisfaction, before turning her stare to the armored blonde. "And who might you be?"

"Torunn," the blonde answered. "You?"

"Lyra. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Torunn responded.

"Well, since we chased your customers out . . . here you go," Lyra said to the bartender, putting down a roll of bills. "On me. See you around." She walked out of _Josie's_ with Torunn following her.

* * *

As the two beautiful warriors walked down the street, Lyra turned to Torunn. "What brought you to _Josie's?_"

"I felt a kindred spirit there," Torunn replied. "I wasn't expecting it to be you."

Lyra smiled. "Well, what about the armor? Are you from Asgard?"

"Yes," Torunn confessed. "But I was utterly bored there. Midgard here looks quite interesting. Shame the men here aren't up to par."

Lyra chuckled. "You won't find good men in a bar, not unless they're drinking away their sorrows. Then you can offer them a little bit of comfort."

Torunn lifted one blonde eyebrow. "You are quite wicked, Lyra."

Just then, armored cars with H.A.M.M.E.R. markings sped up in front of and behind them, cutting off conventional escape routes. "Them again," Lyra groaned.

"Who are they?" Torunn asked.

"H.A.M.M.E.R.," Lyra replied. "Norman Osborn's goon squad for dealing with people like us."

As she said that, armored soldiers poured out of the armored cars, their colors violet and dark green, all of them pointing high-powered pulse rifles at the two women. "You will come with us now," the foremost soldier ordered.

Torunn drew her sword. "And just who do you think you are that you can give orders to me?"

"Resisting arrest? Your funeral, bitch," the foremost H.A.M.M.E.R. soldier answered, before directing his next words to his men. "Open fire!"

Torunn blocked the pulse blasts with her sword, while Lyra jumped over the Asgardian warrior and came down punching a H.A.M.M.E.R. soldier in his shielded face. As he fell, she contorted to hasten his descent with a vicious kick, following up with another acrobatic twist to kick another H.A.M.M.E.R. soldier. She back-flipped off him as the remaining soldiers opened fire on her, only to miss because of how fast she was moving.

Meanwhile, Torunn ran her palm along the flat of her blade, charging it with lightning. Immediately, she began slicing through the soldiers' rifles and armor at bolting speeds, visible only by the trail of electricity and scent of ozone she left behind. When she was done, she was surrounded by the prone frames of numerous disabled H.A.M.M.E.R. soldiers.

Just as Lyra was finishing up with the remaining H.A.M.M.E.R. soldiers, she and Torunn heard the sound of clapping distant yet near. "Do you wish to come out and face us instead of playing the voyeur?" Torunn asked.

A handsome, well-muscled young blond man stepped out of the shadows, a relaxed smile on his face. "Hey. Name's Iolaus. Would have joined in, but I was having too much fun watching you ladies kick their asses. Didn't think it'd be fair to interrupt."

"Hello," Torunn greeted.

"Hi," Lyra greeted.

"So, anyone wanna go for a party?" Iolaus asked. "I know a good spot."

Torunn stared at Iolaus. "And just what kind of party would this be?"

"Some dancing, some music, constant flow of good drinks, good company . . . for certain qualifiers of 'good,'" Iolaus replied.

* * *

That was when they were interrupted by Iron Man, Mockingbird, Thor, and Ricochet, who all came from differing directions. Iron Man and Thor landed from the sky, while Ricochet sped down the façade of a nearby tall building and flipped to land on the ground. Mockingbird parked his motorcycle in front of the trio.

"Torunn," Thor greeted sternly.

"Father," Torunn answered evenly.

"Father!" Iolaus shouted. "Thor's your father!" He quickly calmed down. "Oh, well. Shouldn't be surprised; you were throwing lightning around just like him."

"Yes, I am her father," Thor confirmed stoically.

"So she's the one you said you had to retrieve?" Iron Man asked.

That drew Lyra's attention to Iron Man immediately. "So who do you think you are?"

"Iron Man," the red-and-gold-armored man replied. He opened the faceplate of his helmet to reveal his face. "See here? Hank Pym, at your service, and I've got no more love for Osborn than you do."

"Really?" Lyra asked skeptically.

Hank's expression darkened. "He murdered a good friend of mine and perverted his life's work. I probably hate him even more than you do."

"So that's why you're wearing that tin suit?" Lyra remarked.

"Justice," Hank answered before closing his faceplate once again.

"You're going to return to Asgard with me," Thor ordered Torunn.

"No," Torunn stated.

"Midgard is not a safe place for you," Thor insisted. "It is full of evil men, and there are no longer heroes for you to fight alongside."

"Then what does that make us?" Ricochet asked sardonically.

"Fools," Thor replied.

"I can't believe you've gotten this cynical, Thor," Iron Man responded in shock.

"The degeneration of Midgard is something I have learned to cope with," Thor answered. "I merely do not desire Torunn to be ruined by it."

Torunn drew her sword and pointed it at Thor. "Do not presume to talk as though I was some fragile waif. I am by no means that. I am a Valkyrie, one of the shield maidens of Valhalla . . . and I am not going to quietly retire to Asgard while this world collapses under the weight of its own degeneracy."

"Is that so?" Thor inquired.

Torunn stared into her father's eyes with a steely expression. "Yes."

Thor allowed himself a brief smile. "You are very willful, Torunn. It reminds me much of your mother."

"I suppose," Torunn responded with a brief smile of her own before sheathing her sword.

Thor turned to Iron Man. "Henry Pym, I leave Torunn in your hands. If she wishes to join your Avengers, so be it. But I expect her not to die on your watch . . . or you will not face a god's wrath, but that of a _father._"

Iron Man nodded. "I'll remember that, Thor. And I appreciate it."

"Trusting you with my daughter?" Thor asked. "You may have made your share of mistakes, Henry Pym, but you are a far better man than Tony Stark ultimately proved himself to be."

That stung a little bit, Iron Man found. It wasn't that Hank Pym didn't have his own axe to grind with the late Tony Stark, but it was still a painful reminder that many Avengers were either dead or scattered, with the good names of several run through the dirt. He clenched his armored fist, silently renewing his vow that Norman Osborn would pay for what he'd done to the Avengers.

"Thank you," Iron Man found it in himself to answer. "I think."

"Be on your guard, Torunn," Thor warned before using Mjolnir to crack open a dimensional portal that led back to Asgard. He flew through it, leaving behind Torunn, Lyra, Iolaus, Ricochet, Iron Man, and Mockingbird.

"Hey, Lyra," Ricochet greeted.

"Hey yourself, Rico," Lyra replied.

"I'm guessing you're the She-Hulk of this time," Iron Man addressed Lyra.

"Yeah," Lyra confirmed. "Savage She-Hulk, at your service."

"Wasn't expecting you to be a redhead," Iron Man remarked.

Lyra shrugged.

"He's on the up-and-up, Lyra," Ricochet said.

"You just want to get into his armor," Lyra jibed.

"Well, he is kinda cute," Ricochet admitted. "Don't you think?"

"We'd better not stay in one place too long," Iolaus remarked. "These two ladies tore up a bunch of H.A.M.M.E.R. soldiers. I'm betting more are coming to try their luck . . . or at least they'll send something tougher."

"And who might you be?" Iron Man asked Iolaus.

"Iolaus, son of Hercules," Iolaus replied. "He named me after his best friend and nephew."

"What happened to Hercules?" Iron Man inquired.

"He died as he lived," Iolaus answered somberly. "Protecting the innocent."

* * *

At that moment, the sound of repulsor jets in the sky could be heard. Lyra glared at Iolaus. "You bastard, you jinxed us."

"Just means we get ourselves a good workout," Iolaus commented coolly.

Surrounding the six would-be Avengers was a veritable legion of armored drones painted dark green and violet-black, H.A.M.M.E.R. logos adorning their fronts and backs. "H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids," Iron Man grumbled. "They sent the big guns after us."

"Bigger they are, harder they fall," Mockingbird answered.

"That's the spirit," Iolaus encouraged. "I think I'll like you."

Mockingbird drew a pair of Berettas, while Ricochet plucked a pair of explosive disks off her jacket sleeves. Iron Man readied his repulsors while Torunn unsheathed her sword and Lyra and Iolaus just readied their fists. Mockingbird smirked evilly at the H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids as he brandished his pistols.

"I think it's time we brought the pain."

"That, I can agree with," Lyra remarked.

The H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids attacked them all at once, with surprising speed for their bulk. Unfortunately for them, Torunn was even faster, slicing several in half with her lightning-charged sword. Lyra and Iolaus charged at a particular Droid and punched it together, knocking its head off and punching through its chest armor at the same time.

Ricochet threw her explosive disks at the H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids and they ricocheted between multiple Droids before exploding with enough force to blast a good number of them to bits. Mockingbird dodged the H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids with incredible acrobatics while making trick shots with his pistols that hit the Droids in their weak spots. This made them collapse under their own weight – at which point he delivered the coup de grace by shooting them in their heads.

Iron Man blocked the Droids' assaults with a deflector shield that repelled every single attack they tried. Smiling underneath his helmet, he activated the offensive version of the deflector shield, using it to ram through several of the Droids. He then attacked the Droids with repulsor-enhanced punches, setting upon one with a special ferocity as he imagined Norman Osborn's smugly, psychotically leering face mocking him, mocking everything the Avengers stood for.

The only thing that stopped him beating the Droid past the point of utter uselessness was hearing Ricochet shout, "Look out!" At that point, Iron Man whirled and blasted through the H.A.M.M.E.R. Droid that was about to sneak-attack him with a high-power repulsor blast. Gritting his teeth beneath his helmet, he launched himself like a bullet at another H.A.M.M.E.R. Droid, tearing through it like a hot knife through butter.

Lyra was punching and kicking through H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids with no expression but that of complete focus. Beside her, Iolaus looked like he was having the party of his life as he fought through the Droids. Torunn merely slashed through Droid after Droid with her lightning-powered sword, having a look of concentration on her face similar to Lyra's. Ricochet continued throwing bouncing disks as she dodged the H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids' assaults, the disks ricocheting between the drones before the eventual explosions blasted them all away.

"Time to finish this," Torunn murmured, running her hand up the flat of her sword to charge it up with lightning. She suddenly seemed to vanish for a moment, and a moment after she "reappeared," the H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids surrounding her collapsed completely, having been sliced to multiple pieces each. Torunn just stood there with her sword, looking as impassive as ever.

"You're good, girl, but leave some for the rest of us," Iolaus playfully chided her, prompting a sidelong stare from Torunn. Suddenly, she lunged past him and delivered a vicious uppercut to a H.A.M.M.E.R. Droid that was trying to attack Iolaus from behind. The uppercut sent the Droid flying, and she jumped above it to slice it apart as she came down, its pieces falling around her crouching frame. "Thanks . . ."

Iron Man activated laser weapons hidden within his gauntlets. "I'd duck if I were you," he warned his fellow would-be Avengers.

They ducked, just in time to avoid being sliced to ribbons by the laser beams that cut down the remaining H.A.M.M.E.R. Droids. "Damn it, my hair!" Ricochet yelled.

"Sorry," Iron Man replied, gazing at the scorched ends of Ricochet's white hair.

"They don't exactly make hair products for getting it burned off by a laser," Ricochet pouted.

"You're still alive," Torunn remarked stoically. "And mostly unharmed. Be grateful for that."

"Yeah, I am," Ricochet answered. "I just wish I hadn't had to sacrifice my hair to do it."

"I'd say it's about time we got lost," Mockingbird admonished. "We just smashed up their pet droids. H.A.M.M.E.R. won't be happy about that, and I don't intend to make myself more a target than I already have. You shouldn't, either."

"Good point," Iron Man conceded, opening a portal. "This will take you to the Infinite Avengers Mansion. You'll be safe there. Osborn or his goons won't be able to find you there."

"What about you?" Ricochet asked.

"I still have recruits to find," Iron Man replied before jetting off into the sky as the other Avengers-to-be entered the portal leading to the Infinite Avengers Mansion.

"_Who are you thinking about?"_ Tony 2.0 asked.

"I'm thinking we might need a little speed on our side," Iron Man replied. "You know anybody that fits the profile?"

"_There's always Luna Maximoff,"_ Tony 2.0 suggested. _"According to the files I have on her, she's got super-speed, but her version works by distorting time and space around her to propel herself to any given destination faster than most eyes – even superhuman eyes – can track."_

"Like father, like daughter," Iron Man mused. "You think she'll want to join us?"

"_Her mother might have issues with that, given what her father put her through,"_ Tony 2.0 warned.

"What did he do?" Iron Man asked.

"_Remember when Scarlet Witch triggered M-Day?"_ Tony 2.0 asked. _"Quicksilver was one of the unlucky ones. He lost his powers, and he was so desperate to get them back that he stole the Terrigen Mists and even got Luna hooked on them."_

"Damn," Iron Man uttered, completely shocked. "I knew he was an asshole, but I didn't know he'd go that far."

"_Desperation does scary things to a person's mind,"_ Tony 2.0 responded. _"You know that better than most."_

"Yeah, I do," Iron Man conceded ruefully. "Anybody else you have in mind?"

"_There's a Black Knight active right now . . . and a new White Tiger,"_ Tony 2.0 answered.

"Give it to me straight on them," Iron Man ordered.

"_The Black Knight in question is Jason Garrett,"_ Tony 2.0 explained. _"He's related to Nathan Garrett, the first modern Black Knight, and Dane Whitman, the man who joined the Avengers bearing the Ebony Blade, but he's a more direct descendant of Garrett. Fortunately, he takes more after Dane. He's managed to unlock certain abilities that the other Black Knights didn't have, like a magical suit of armor for extra protection when he fights. It helps him maintain something of a secret identity, too."_

"What about the White Tiger?" Iron Man prompted. "Does he or she have anything to do with Hector Ayala or Angela del Toro?"

"_Black Panther,"_ Tony 2.0 corrected. _"In Wakanda, there's a cult that acts like some kind of militant religious order sworn to defend the Black Panther, and its representative is known as the White Tiger. The White Tiger here is the son of T'Challa's old foe Erik Killmonger, who managed to manipulate his way into ruling Wakanda by taking advantage of the panic caused by T'Challa's absence. Unfortunately for Killmonger, his son – Derek Slayton – decided to work with T'Challa's loyalists, and he got exiled for that. He's been fighting crime here ever since."_

"What happened to T'Challa?" Iron Man asked.

"_Nobody knows for sure, but he up and disappeared one day, years ago,"_ Tony 2.0 replied. _"There are those who suspect Killmonger was behind T'Challa's disappearance, or at least worked with whoever caused it, and it's still up for debate whether or not he's still alive. Whatever the case, he's been gone a long time."_

Iron Man sighed. "Where can I find this White Tiger?"

"_I'll lead you to him,"_ Tony 2.0 replied. _"Just let me handle the driving."_

* * *

End Notes: There you have it. The Secret Avengers are beginning to come together as a team, but there are still more individuals to recruit. Who will join? Who will refuse? And what will the team have to face off against as they struggle to topple Norman Osborn's Dark Reign? For the answers to those questions and others, read on and be sure to review!


End file.
